For all these years, season after season, the tree was the focal point of our view from the deck. The trunk was massive and solid, and the wispy green top tickled the blue sky in the breeze. Storms came, ice coated its branches, at least one hurricane made its way through our area, and the sun beat down during the heat of summer drought. But still the tree stood firm.
My wife commented a few months ago that she was concerned about the tree. She said she wondered about how strong it was, having grown so quickly. I dismissed her concern, but I took our arborist neighbor outside to look at it with me. There was a lot of new growth, the trunk was intact and free from insect damage, and we both noted how the water from our yards drained to that area and soaked the roots of the tree, nourishing it so well that it had grown far taller and more robustly healthy than would have been expected otherwise. For all we could tell, the tree was truly a perfect specimen; and I told her what we had decided. "Still," she said, "I worry about that tree."
One Wednesday night last month, I pushed one of my granddaughters on the swing. Then I sat in the bench under the big tree making mental notes about improvements I'd like to make to the large wooden toy to make it more fun for them. It was one of those perfect summer moments.
About midnight that same night, a surprise storm illuminated the house with lightning. The wind howled and shook the walls harder than I'd ever felt before. Hearing deck furniture sliding and smacking the wall outside, I put on the porch light and peered into the back yard. There I saw a massive ball of leaves and branches--the top of our beloved Willow--draped over the back fence, having fallen just 25 feet or so from the house. It was a stunning sight and I wanted to run out to see it; but the lightning and rain continued so we waited until morning to survey any further damage to the house or property.
At first light, I went outside with my camera. Neighbors had lost roofing tiles and pieces of siding, but our house was (thankfully) intact. The big Willow, however, had come down and crushed the bench, the fence, and the children's big wooden swingset. The force of the trunk slamming into the wooden structure bent the steel connections and splintered one of the major cross beams.
But the most amazing realization was that my wife was right about the tree. This mighty Willow, as healthy and robust and strong as it had been, was brought down not only by the strength of the wind, but by the weakness of its roots. For a decade and a half, the tree had received all the water and nourishment it wanted delivered right to its base. So its roots never had to do much more than spread out and "enjoy" the good life.
Even when the ground dried, ground water was sufficient to keep the tree hydrated. So it grew up and out, never taking the time to bury itself deeply into the earth. Had it been forced to seek water deep underground, I'm sure its roots would have been much more of an anchor for the mighty trunk. Instead, the weight of its massive visible self overpowered the weak base and the tree was uprooted by a gust of wind.
Now that it's gone, I stood on the deck yesterday looking at the mulch-covered spot in the ground that used to be the willow trunk. It's easy to see how the strong and mighty are not always what they appear. Without struggling at times to really find out how strong you can be, it doesn't take much to pull you over. Work and hardship aren't pleasant. In fact, they're often very painful. But sometimes I guess having to overcome difficulties makes us better, stronger, more well-balanced beings.
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